Perfect Silence. Helen Fields
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No one had responded to her screams and her kidnapper hadn’t bothered silencing her. Wherever she was, it wasn’t in the middle of civilisation. Having blindfolded her and led her over a gravel path, twigs brushing her face, he had opened a door and pushed her into an outbuilding.
‘Take your clothes off, then lie on the table on your back,’ the man had directed her.
Lorna had the perverse benefit of being unafraid of rape. Men had used her body in ways she tried not to think about any more. One more wasn’t going to add to her nightmares. If that was the worst of it, then she would celebrate. If the sick fuck wanted to tie her up first, and keep her in the cold outdoors for a while, then she could take that, too. She would keep her nerve and stay strong. Come hell or high-water, she would be reunited with her baby. Lorna slept again.
When she awoke it was fully daylight. The additional hours of cold had left her muscles cramping hard. She started at her toes, tightening and loosening her muscles until there was no more she could do for relief. When the door opened, she had almost convinced herself that the man wasn’t coming back for her, and that she would die of hunger and thirst in the middle of nowhere. She knew better than to speak first. Better to wait and see what he wanted from her.
‘You have to eat and drink,’ he said, pushing a mouldy pillow beneath her head to prop her up enough that the cup of milk he held to her lips didn’t spill. He was patient as she sipped. No drops ran down her chin. When she’d finished, he took a chunk of bread from a plate. Ripping off small sections, he held them to her mouth and watched as she chewed and swallowed. He said nothing, staring at her face as she pretended not to notice. Eventually it was all gone.
‘My name’s Lorna,’ she said quietly.
‘I know,’ the man replied as he took the plate and cup away.
‘I’m a bit cold,’ Lorna said. ‘Could I have another blanket, please?’
‘The cold’s good for your skin,’ he said. ‘I have something else here for that, too.’
She raised her head from the pillow and watched him pull a bottle from beneath his coat. Spilling a dollop of cream onto his palm, he slipped his hand beneath the blanket. She waited for it. Better over sooner rather than later she thought, waiting for the violation. His hand found her stomach and began smearing on the cold gloop. Lorna shivered but knew better than to complain.
‘What’s it for?’ Lorna asked.
‘Just following orders,’ he replied, spreading the liquid down over her abdomen to the tops of her thighs. He pulled his hand out and squirted more onto his palm. This time he ran his hand under her back, lifting her a little with his free hand, beginning in the middle of her back and rubbing it in until his hand was dry.
‘Whose orders?’ Lorna asked, making sure her voice was low and compliant. So far he wasn’t showing any signs of aggression and she wanted to keep it that way.
‘You’re a bad girl,’ he said, slowly pulling the blanket down from her neck to reveal her nakedness beneath.
This was it, then, Lorna thought. This was what he wanted. No point being shy. She might only get one opportunity to get out.
‘I can be bad for you, if that’s what you want,’ Lorna said. ‘You can keep me tied up, or let me go. I won’t run. I know what men like. Let me show you.’
His face seized into a scowl, and for a second Lorna saw the snarl of teeth.
‘You see?’ he said. ‘You’re not even bothering to pretend. At least you don’t lie about it. Perhaps that’s better. Even here, on your back, all trussed up, you still want it, don’t you?’ He leaned down to breathe hot words into her ear. ‘Whores always want it. They never stop. Does it itch? Does it burn? It will. You’ll always be a bad girl while you’re alive.’
Lorna froze. The misjudgment sat heavy in her stomach like a mountain of cold pasta. She thought fast.
‘I was just scared,’ she said. ‘I was saying what I thought you wanted to hear. I’m not like that, really. I have a young baby – you saw her – and I love her so much. I’m a good mother. I take proper care of her.’
‘Are you married to her father?’ the man asked. ‘Has the baby been baptised? Do you even know who the father is?’
A sob caught in the back of Lorna’s throat.
‘How many men did you have to fornicate with before one of their seeds took in your filthy belly?’ he asked.
‘It wasn’t like that,’ Lorna said, fighting the rising sense of panic that was drawing a black veil over everything around her. ‘I had a difficult life. Things went wrong. I made some bad choices but I’ve made it all better. If you let me go, I can go back to my baby. I can be good for her. I’ll be good for her forever.’
‘You’re a bad girl,’ the man said, holding a quivering hand over her pubic hair. ‘A bad girl who let anyone and everyone into this.’ He slapped down hard and Lorna cried out, still raw from the stitching after labour.
‘Please don’t,’ she sobbed. ‘Please don’t hurt me. I want to see my daughter again.’
‘Do you not think she deserves better than you, slut?’ he asked, pulling the belt from his trousers, red in the face and panting.
‘I know she does,’ Lorna cried out. ‘I know she does and I try so hard every day to be the best I can. I’m begging you, let me go back to my baby.’
‘I’m going to let you go back to her,’ he said. ‘When this is over, I’ll take you back. When you’re clean. When you’re saved.’
Lorna saw the truth in his eyes. Her bravado had been pointless. She knew what hatred looked like. It was the black full stop in each of a man’s eyes. Once again, she filled the air with the desolation of her screams.
Callanach handed Dr Spurr a bottle of Oban single malt and sighed. ‘Don’t you ever wish you’d chosen a different career, Jonty?’
‘The dead would miss me, I fear. It takes a number of years to properly understand how to strike up a conversation with them. It’s the last thing my trainees learn. These are not just bodies; they are untold stories,’ the pathologist said. ‘Thanks for the whisky. What’s the occasion?’
‘You’re away from home and I thought you could use the comfort. This isn’t the easiest case. And … I’m worried about Ava. I know she can handle herself, but she’s taking it particularly hard. I’d like to move the investigation forward as quickly as I can. Is there anything more you can tell me about the doll?’
‘Quite a lot, actually,’ Jonty said. ‘Come through. I was in the process of writing up my report, so I’ll take you through it as I go.’
They walked into the lab, pulling on gloves. ‘Regarding the other young woman who’s been taken, Jonty, we’ve made no progress overnight. You’ve seen more of these cases than me, and I worked enough of them with Interpol. How long do you think she has? Zoey Cole survived a week.’
‘The relentlessly ticking clock. I always hear it as the number of heartbeats we have left until we die. If it’s good news you’re after, you’ve come to the wrong man. I appreciate the single malt, although I think we might want to drink it together. The doll has provided additional information, none of which favours Lorna’s situation.’ He pointed towards a tray where various piles of materials had been left accessible. Both skin sections from the doll were laid out flat. Next to that was a mound of cut-up cloth. Finally there were two clear evidence bags. Callanach could see hair in the first, but nothing in the second. ‘I spent yesterday conducting tests on the skin sections after you left. It has a strange texture, so much so that I broke the golden rule and handled part of it without my gloves on. That